


Synonyms

by misbegotten



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Post-Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: AfterSkyfall, beforeSpectre, Bill Tanner has tea and takeaway, and finds Q's hair inexplicably well-behaved.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).



> Well, there is a character death in that it's canon. But at this point I don't think I need to worry about warning for it, do I? I'm always late to the party.
> 
> Thank you to [kayim](http://kayim.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta and invaluable suggestions!

M left two bequests to coworkers. To James Bond she left an ugly, patriotic bulldog. To Bill Tanner, she left a leatherbound thesaurus.

Those who didn't know her well thought she didn't have a sense of humour.

Tanner appreciates the thesaurus. Q had wielded words like weapons -- she was better at that than on the shooting range, she'd commented wryly to Tanner. On more than one occasion she had outmaneuvered a political rival with nothing more than a well-crafted memorandum.

Flipping through the thesaurus, contemplating his next task (the Queen is dead, long live the King) Tanner comes upon an underlined word. _Faithful_ , she'd noted. Ardent, conscientious, resolute, trustworthy. Ironic that she'd highlighted that word, given they lived in a world fraught with betrayal and insincerity. He has no illusions that she was perfect, but she'd held true to her beliefs, always.

"Tea," Q says by way of warning before depositing a cup and saucer at Tanner's elbow. It's become a bit of a habit, these check-ins from Q. Really quite sweet. As if the Quartermaster thinks Tanner needs looking after with M's death. He appreciates the token. Q himself gulps tea in copious quantities from novelty mugs not nearly as clever as he is, but for Tanner he always produces the good china.

"Do you think I need careful handling?" Tanner finds himself asking, because it's with Q that he's allowed to be a bit casual on occasion. He continually finds himself letting his guard down around Q, which is a disturbing tendency in his workplace. Though it hasn't backfired on him yet. Tanner touches a finger to the delicate edge of the teacup and looks at Q, who blinks back at him.

"Not particularly," Q replies. "Though if you want careful handling we could discuss it further." He smiles a bit behind his mug as he leaves, and Tanner stares after him, bemused.

Either Q has just come onto him, or... well, Q has just come onto him.

Tanner finds that it doesn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, he rather relishes the thought.

*

Q Branch is one of the busiest after Silva's incursion because they are supervising the new security protocols. Tanner finds himself delegated by Mal-- M to liaise with all appropriate parties, which means a lot of time with Q. He knew Q before Q was Q, of course; he was a high-flying member of the team, with a wry wit that endeared him to his coworkers and enough political acumen to garner M's attention. He's settled well into the role of Quartermaster, so much so that Tanner has a hard time remembering him as anything but.

"No, no, no," Q is muttering at a tablet in his hand. "That should be an encrypted packet."

"Problem?" Tanner asks. As if there is anything he can do about Q's packets, encrypted or otherwise.

Q waves his chopsticks negligently. Eve had deposited takeaway on Q's desk some hours before, but they are just now getting to it. Kung Pao Chicken at 2 AM is just as good as at 8 PM, Tanner muses. Maybe better. 

"Only a minor one," Q assures him, and lays the tablet on the desk so he can skitter his fingers across it. He makes a satisfied noise and returns to the food. "We're on schedule."

"So we can proceed to the move of L section?" Tanner asks, breaking open one of the two fortune cookies that Eve had deposited in a folded paper serviette.

Q points at him with the chopsticks. "No, I meant us. We're on schedule."

Tanner is momentarily confused. "What schedule is that?"

Q puts down his chopsticks and takes the other cookie. "Chatting you up over tea, moonlight dinner to follow."

Tanner bites down a grin. "We can't actually see the moon from here." He glances at the small piece of paper which purports to tell his fortune. _It is time to take a chance._ Really now.

Q glances over, then slides his own fortune across. _It is time to take a chance._ "Snap," he says.

Who is he to argue with the fortune cookie gods? Tanner leans across the desk and screws his hand into Q's tie, dragging his lips into kissing distance. The kiss is chaste at first, a brief touch of lips, and then Q tilts his head and slants their mouths together properly. His tongue licks into Tanner's mouth, greedy. Tanner finds himself under an onslaught, the sweet taste of Kung Pao mixed with something indefinably Q.

When they part, Tanner's breath hitches. He wants more. But this is not the place, though the time seems appropriate.

"Come back to mine?" he asks.

Q's eyebrows quirk. "Who am I to argue with the fortune cookie gods?"

 _Snap,_ Tanner thinks.

*

Q's hair is inexplicably well-behaved. He's half-buried under Tanner's duvet, pale skin on offer where the t-shirt he'd borrowed is rucked up at his side. Tanner licks a path there (Q is, apparently, not ticklish in the slightest. He also has no gag reflex, which Tanner found out the pleasant way.), and Q responds with a mumbled, "Insatiable."

"Your hair is... normal," Tanner muses, and Q's eyes open.

"Your point?"

Tanner mouths the skin, sucking a circle that may leave a nicely purpled mark. When he's finished, he smiles. "I could win the office pool."

Q screws his fingers into Tanner's t-shirt and hauls him up, claims a kiss. "Which pool is that?"

"The one as to whether you style your hair to look like it's never been cut, or if it looks that way naturally."

Q does mock-annoyed well. "Is this a requisite of power? I'm in at least two other pools that I know of." He kisses Tanner again, sucking on his bottom lip.

Tanner inhales noisily when Q's fingers slide up his spine. "Everybody's in the 'who will 007 sleep with next?’ pool," he points out. "That one's not even fun anymore."

"I'm the odds-on favourite for 'who will kill 007 first?'," Q says. The light tattoo of his fingers on Tanner's spine pauses. It hasn't been that long since they put M to the fire, after all. Tanner occupies himself with nudging the neck of Q's t-shirt aside with his nose, inhaling the musky scent of stale sweat at the hollow of his neck, which should not be attractive in the slightest but is. "I believe I also have the dubious distinction of winning the 'who will bag Tanner?' bet," Q continues lightly.

Tanner pauses. "There's a pool on _me_?" he asks, finally. A bit incredulously. Tanner is used to being M's shadow, not the subject of office speculation as to whom he might bed. Or, in the case of Q, be on the receiving end of a spectacular blow-job just inside the front door and then bed.

"Eve may have started it," Q allows.

"Eve who brought us Chinese last night?" Tanner muses. "Do you think she has an in with the fortune cookie company?"

"No," Q laughs. "That was me. Sorry."

Tanner grabs a pillow and rearranges Q a bit. "I put nothing past you." Moving his hands to Q's hips, he cants them at the right angle for maximum friction. "'Dubious distinction' indeed," he chides.

"I take it back," Q gasps as Tanner rubs in just the right way. "I meant pleasure. It is definitely my pleasure."

Then there are no words at all for quite a while.

*

The wooing of Bill Tanner continues unabated. There are meals, when time permits. Chat conversations that really ought not to be a turn-on given their mundane subject matter ("Q Branch needs more personnel" comes with an implied "...and then I can shag you senseless more frequently."). And endless cups of tea, which Tanner cannot fathom because Q isn't even on the grounds anymore; M granted his request to move out of Whitehall and he's set up shop in what Tanner has privately taken to calling the Q lair. But somehow, bone china cups with hot tea still appear on his desk. Eve claims to know nothing about it.

"You know I'm pretty much a sure thing," Tanner says to Q one evening as they're sprawled naked across the sheets. They've grabbed a few precious hours before Tanner has to be back at the office; the rumoured merger with MI5 is causing M no end of grief and keeping Tanner ridiculously busy. "You don't need to try that hard."

Q hums against his neck, placing a sloppy kiss there while running his fingers along Tanner's ribs. Unlike Q, Tanner is ticklish and he wills himself to stay still. It's a valiant effort, but he dissolves into an utterly predictable chortle. It feels strange on his usual attempt at a poker face. "You do that on purpose," he complains.

"You don't smile enough," Q says simply. "Except with me. And nothing is a sure thing in our line of work. I prefer to keep all avenues of possibility open."

"Indeed," Tanner manages as Q's hands continue to wander. He really does have to get back to the office. "As tempting as it is to lounge about in bed with you, duty calls." No one knows that better than Q.

"We should go on holiday," Q says abruptly. He grabs at the bedside table, fishes for his glasses and settles them on his face, regarding Tanner fondly. "If 007 can go on holiday, surely the country can do without us for a few days."

"On holiday?" Tanner's thoughts are screeching in a variety of different directions. First, he loves the thought of a few uninterrupted days dallying with Q. Second, the office pools would implode if they disappeared at the same time. Not that Tanner cares who knows about their relationship. The fact that it's early days to be holidaying together doesn't even enter into it; life at MI6 has always been one on the run, and if M -- _his_ M's -- death has taught him anything it's that he should carve out what moments of happiness that he can. But mostly, he's astonished that 007 is voluntarily taking time off. "007?" he repeats dumbly.

"Mmm," Q yawns and scratches a hand through his hair, inching it towards its usual height. "Even the great and mighty 007 is going on holiday. We should too."

Tanner sighs. The rumoured merger has come with a proposal for a closing of the old MI6 building, and M is unlikely to want him out of sight as they navigate the choppy political waters of that particular headache. He reaches over and carefully removes Q's glasses. "Would you settle for a quick shag and reheated Thai?"

Q leans in, cups a hand at Tanner's neck. "Forget the Thai."

Briefly, as he sinks into Q's kiss, Tanner wonders what the odds are that 007's holiday isn't some portent of doom. Cataclysm, debacle. End of the world as they know it.

Stuff the world, he thinks firmly. He's got far better on offer.


End file.
